to the victor go the spoils
by of self
Summary: In the end, the victory is a pyrrhic one. Briseis/Achilles. AU.


a/n – Stupid thing took me a year to write and even then my dialogue flows choppy. I give up. Anyhow this AU and god, I love these two from the movie. Sucks that Paris grew balls the one time he didn't need them.

* * *

**to the victor go the spoils.**

..

They storm the castle on the twentieth day after the summer solstice, the day she was going to offer thanks for everything the sun god had given them so far. She was going to offer gratitude and undying devotion but now her faith is a little shaken and sometimes, deep within her heart, she cannot understand why the gods decided to forsake them now.

..

Her faith is more than a little shaken but somehow admitting that to herself seems like sacrilege. She's willing to wait though. And she's hoping that everything she's learnt about the gods swooping in to save those who worship them with true devotion in their hearts will come true.

..

She hears loud cannon fire and battle cries and barely makes it out of her rooms before Paris comes running and shoves her back in with a whisper that Greece has invaded them. Andromache is the first casualty because she is out in the gardens, just enjoying some quiet and the next thing they know, she lies in an elegant heap on the ground, an arrow having pierced through her heart. Hector is out there fighting like a man demented, with grief and sorrow. And she can barely contain the bile that comes up. Her elder sister, almost a mother to her, that brave strong woman is gone. _Forever_.

She's pushed back and Paris rushes away before she can even ask anything.

"But what about the _child_?"

Her little nephew, just a babe and with no mother to hold him. Tears roll down her eyes and clog her throat.

Her heart hurts.

..

The lockdown has continued for two days. She's stopped looking outside her window because the once pristine beaches are stained with blood and she doesn't even knows who's and she's given up on hope because she can't spot Hector or Paris. She loves them both but she loves Hector a little more. He was a father and a brother and invaluable.

She can't imagine a day without hearing his quiet affectionate voice echo softly through her years, calming her and soothing her. But days pass by and now she knows the days without him are immeasurably empty and devoid of emotion.

..

Her little nephew has been crying for two days. His wails are loud and clear and yet there's no one to attend to him. There are guards posted outside her room—she cant go out, she's going to be a slave soon but his bleating cries wrench at her heart and before she knows it, she's out of her room and running towards his, desperate to hold him in her arms and soothe him. Soothe herself too because she hasn't seen her family and she knows she's never going to see them again.

She's _almost_ there but one of the guards catches her and as she fights tooth and nail to release herself, a blonde man comes onto the scene.

"Why is she out?" he quietly questions and slipping a hit of menace into this most innocuous question even and the guard quivers before answering.

"She gave us the slip milord and now we caught her and we'll take her back, the _bitch_," the guard mutters obsequiously.

She fights harder in her struggle to get out.

"Release her," the blonde man says, a sardonic smile playing on her lips, "You won't get far virgin priestess." He mocks her and her blood boils.

"I have my pride and I would rather die than run. All I want my nephew who lies motherless in his bed." Her head held up high and all her effort is focused on allowing her voice not to shake and tremble. She marches forward, determined to kick anyone violently in that place which Andromache mentioned but no one moves and she can hardly believe her luck as she runs into the room and scoops up her nephew before anyone can tackle her to the ground.

Out of the corner of her eye, she notices the blonde man watching her. The guards are doing nothing—obviously at his insistence and as she walks back to her room, cradling her now quiet and teary eyed nephew, she can sense his eyes on her. Burning and scorching is his gaze.

It sends a tingle down her spine because never before has she experienced a man's intimate gaze as such as his. It makes her feel vulnerable and open.

..

In the privacy of her rooms, she's able to take a good look at her nephew. The child looks weak and his face is red and he's _so_ tired from crying and wanting his mother. She soothes him in her arms and he nuzzles against her chest hungrily. She sighs because she doesn't even know if there's a midwife around. She doesn't know who's alive any more or who's dead—actually she'd rather not think about that and she wonders if the guards would get her some milk and water if she asked.

It's a gamble she has to take anyway and when she goes outside to ask, the guard surprisingly complies. A few minutes later, there's fresh bread, fruit, some milk and even water. It's warm, just like she asked for and she gently bathes the child in it, adding in a few drops of lavender oil to soothe it.

After the child is clean, she feeds it milk and some mashed fruit.

Contended finally, the child falls asleep in her arms, feeling safe and warm. His weight is comforting to her as is his tender scent, so innocent and pure. She eats a bit herself and then lays him down on the bed, covers him securely and then holding him close, she watches him sleep, each breath measured and contented.

Soon enough, she falls asleep too. Nothing uneasy and everything deep and dreamless.

It's the most peaceful she's felt since the siege's begun.

Unknown to her, the blonde man stands at the entrance and watches, his eyes filled with soft emotion.

..

On the ninth day of the siege, she sees Hector. He looks awful—scarred and so weary and there's heaviness in his every step.

"Dearest cousin, thank you for taking care of my son," his voice is brittle and shaky as he holds his son in his arms and watches him gurgle in happiness. Briseis watches, her heart breaking little by little.

So this is how grief looks like.

"Astyanax, my son, I love you." He drops a kiss, from tired lips, his voice hoarse with battle and grief and then he turns towards her.

"I love you too cousin. I hope you live to see your dreams. Take care." He whispers this into her ears as he hugs her and hands her his son before he walks away, defeated.

So this is what goodbye looks like.

..

She doesn't need a verbal confirmation to know Hector is dead. She smells it in the air and hears it in the grief that echoes through their tiny army. Their leader falls to his blessed peace and Troy is now at the mercies of the Gods. (The ones who have forsaken them, a sharp voice in her head adds.)

She wishes and hopes that Hector finds his peace in the afterlife. His name will be remembered forever in the gloried halls of fame and honour and generations to come will speak of him and his valour. She prays for his peace too but her prayer is some what half-hearted. She's losing her faith in the Gods. Good Apollo _isn't_ preventing Troy from going up in smoke and embers. And with a heavy heart she realizes that maybe Troy was destined to fall. And maybe the Gods planned this all along. But that doesn't restore her faith. It's just all gone.

Like wisps of smoke disappearing into the air.

..

She clings to her nephew like a lifeline as she watches the city burn around her.

It is not enough though.

..

The blonde haired man comes every evening and sits at the door of her chambers and watches her with her nephew. He makes no move to come in and he never has a word to say. He just sits and watches her intently, all the while.

His name is Achilles she hears and he's the greatest warrior Greece has ever known. That doesn't worry her. She has already decided that when push come to shove, she throw herself and her nephew to her death. Her pride does not permit her to be a slave and she rather wishes her nephew dead than have him raised by others who murdered his parents.

What worries her is the fact that he chooses to concentrate his attention on _her_.

She's just a virgin priestess, nothing more, nothing less.

She cannot conceive what he wants with her.

After all, she's too just one amongst a thousand or so pawns.

..

On the thirtieth day of the siege, Astyanax takes his first steps. She kneels on the ground and holds out her hands and she cannot help but feel a maternal surge of pride as he toddles unsteadily into her arms and gurgles up at her delighted smile. She cannot even hold back the tears that escape her eyes at how proud Andromache and Hector would have been to see their little one grow into something wonderful, had they been alive.

"If he's anything like how his father was, then someday he will be a great man."

She turns around surprised to hear Achilles speaking.

"How do you know what kind of a man Hector is?" She questions, unable to disguise the ache in her heart that strums along her voice.

"He was an honorable man. He came to his death willingly at my hands knowing of the crime he had mistakenly committed. And that's more than I can say for your _other_ cousin."

She doesn't even hear the jibe about Paris. All she can hear resounding in her head Achilles was the man who killed her beloved cousin Hector. He was an _honorable_ man and the only reason Troy had held fort for so long.

Achilles killed him.

"You are not an honorable man." Her voice shakes and there's a prickle in her eyes.

"No I'm not," he answers easily, smiling grimly. "The battlefield is no place for honor."

"Then I'd rather he be an honorable man than a _great_ man. It is what his father would have wanted. His mother too." There's a quiet certainty in her shaking voice because the wounds of loss are still raw and while her tears may have dried out, her hurt still hurts.

He laughs and it isn't the laughter that comes from actual joy. It is the laughter at the naivety of a fool. But Briseis does not care. Her faith may be gone but her principles she'll cling onto till the day she dies. Her elders taught them to her and lived and died by them. It brought them peace and she wants that peace too since heaven now feels like something distant and vague and almost not real.

"What do _you_ want?" He questions, amusement still rumbling through his voice.

"My faith restored," she tells him rather blankly, feeling very much like a drifting ship with no direction. She's content with her fate because she knows what needs to be done but she needs something to bolster her inner strength. Faith used to be her anchor during times of need. But now, she's grasping for straws and filled with indecision. She knows what she wants but does she have the strength to go through with it? The conviction of knowing that what she was doing was right and that which would eventually give her salvation and peace. And yes, there are her principles but she sorely misses being able to just put her trust in something and allow faith to take care of the rest.

"I could give you all the jewels in the world and more. But not what you ask for." He says quietly, his head tilted, eyeing her with a searching gaze. "Not _that_. I wish I _could_ though." He adds softly, smiling at her with a secret strange knowledge, like he knows the curve of her jaw and the softness of her palms better than anyone. She doesn't know what to quite make of it. He always leaves her feeling exposed and vulnerable, though covered up she may be.

"What do you _want_?" she questions, more out of curiosity than anything else. She's now sitting on the floor and Astaynax is sits in her lap, his hands tugging at her clothes and her hair and gaining enjoyment out of it.

He sits across at the door way and shoots her an amused glance. "I want many things. _Fame_. Glory. _Eternity_. Riches. I want the whole world to know _my_ name for ages to come."

She has no doubt that the world will remember him. Whether for good or bad she doesn't know and there's a small part of her that wants to tell him that material wealth doesn't last forever but it's not her place to do so, so she asks him another question.

"What do you _need_?"

He chuckles. "You little priestess are far wiser than what I give you credit for. What I _need_ is a family. A good wife who _loves_ me for what I am, children who _adore_ me, a life spent amongst the _ordinary_. But my wants eclipses my need. There is one thing that I _want_ and _need_ though."

There's no amusement on his face no however. It seems like his voice is filled with a longing, a yearning of sorts. She's almost afraid of what she's going to hear but her curiosity is piqued so she asks anyway.

"What?"

"_You_." His voice is soft but it hits her with a force of a hammer, resounding within her ears like a bell, ringing clearly. She turns away and pretends she hasn't heard that though. She wants and needs many things but how can she want or need the very person who is the cause of her family never seeing the light of day again and who is burning her beloved home around her as she speaks? She cannot. She just cannot. In all good conscience she _cannot_.

Her heart tells a different story though.

..

"We all need someone. Even _you_ priestess." His voice faintly floats back, gentle mockery so evident in it.

Her heart beats a thunderous tattoo against her chest and for the first time in her life, Briseis wonders about what she really needs.

..

That night, Astaynax in her arms, she sneaks out of her rooms and makes her way to her Uncle Priam's rooms. The guards posted outside his room are mercifully asleep, just like hers and for once she's glad that no one really thinks that women and infirm old kings can do much.

At the door way, as she edges in, she can see her Uncle sitting in his chair, deep in thought, looking much more weary and frailer than usual. Briseis feels her heart catch in her chest because she knows Hector's death hit him harder than most.

Paris may have been the beloved son but Hector was the _perfect_ son, the king in waiting, the prince loved and adored by everyone. And she privately thinks he was the only reason Troy stood tall for so long.

"Briseis?" her uncle whispers hoarsely, his faded eyes watery and blue. He holds out a frail arm and she runs towards him and his enveloped in a tight embrace, almost squashing the child between them.

Tears run down her eyes and she cant do or say anything much except sit at the foot of the chair and lean her head on his lap. The child slumbers blissfully in her lap.

"I wasn't sure if you and the little one were even alive anymore," her uncle says stroking her hair softly. "But I am glad you are. Almost everyone that I love is already gone, too soon.

"They kept us alive because they want us as slaves. A priestess and a Prince's son." She wants to laugh, pass it off with bitter nonchalance, a sign that she doesn't really care but _that_ is the problem. She _does_.

She cannot imagine spending her life, cleaning up after boorish men and being pawed at constantly, with no regard for her self or dignity. She cannot imagine a life for Astaynax where he will never know the love of his parents and where he'll constantly be reminded that he's nothing more than dirt. His life hasn't even started as yet and it's already doomed. She'd live hers a little easier if she knew that he was living somewhere better, with people who loved and cared for him and told him tales of his wonderful parents.

"Your parents envisioned a better life for you. I have failed them." Priam sighs heavily, filled with an inescapable sadness. It is the young who have all the time in the world and yet it is their future that has already been doomed. His time has come and he would have gladly taken their place. If was not for the old to live at the cost of the young.

"You gave me everything I wanted. As far as I know, you haven't failed me. The gods failed us." She cant stop the bitterness that laces her voice on the last remark.

"Hush my dear, that is blasphemy," Priam cautions but to her ears, his voice is without conviction. And that is when she knows that she is not the only one who has experienced a loss of faith.

"I don't want to be a slave Uncle. I don't want a life like that for Astyanax." The words come out rough and hurried and she suppresses a sob.

"Then what will you do? There's no way to escape. If I could, I would help you escape. I have no wish to see my blood serving others who do not deserve it." His age and inability once again sadden him.

"I'll-I'll kill myself and-and Astyanax…" There, she said it aloud. To think it and to say it aloud, those are two vastly different things. The words said aloud are heavier and somewhat more ominous.

Priam has no immediate reaction. Vaguely in his mind, he has seen the possibility. He brought up his children to be proud young men and women, befitting of royalty. In a way, he prefers instant death for them rather than a life in chains. He waits for a while, letting Briseis's own words skin into her skin before he questions gently, "Would that make you happy?"

She ponders the question for a while and then answers carefully.

"Yes."

"Then you should do as you like. You control your fate my dear."

All of a sudden, her heart doesn't feel heavy anymore. She may not have her faith but what she needs to do, in a way it has been validated. That makes her surer of her decision. It is not the coward's way out. It is just the last resort of a person who doesn't really have a future.

She hears a noise outside and tenses.

"I must go Uncle. May peace be with you."

"Of course, child. I shall now go on with peace, having seen your faces." Her uncle smiles gently and lovingly and as Briseis walks out of the room, she knows this will be the last time she sees him. Either he dies first or they die first but all the same, this is the last time.

Her eyes blur and she clutches the child closer to her, seeking some comfort in his warmth.

"_Priestess_. That was _really_ foolish of you."

She stands still, stunned and slowly turns around, terror writ large on her face. There's a dagger in the folds of her dress but she doubts she will be able to wield it at all. At a distance, leaning against a wall is Achilles, his face blank and expressionless. He now walks towards her and she forces herself to stand her ground and not run.

Because really, where would she run to?

For each step that he comes closer, she flinches and when he's near her, just a few inches away, she can feel herself shrinking in anticipation of the blow to come.

He backs her into a wall and for the first time in her life, she tastes fear on her tongue, metallic and dry.

So she ends her life this way. She only hopes Astaynax goes along with her.

She shuts her eyes tight and prays that there is no sweat on her brow giving away her fear.

"Open your eyes priestess. I'm not going to kill you." His hands are placed on the wall on either side of her head and his face is but a few inches away from hers.

Her eyes fly open in surprise.

"Are you that scared of me?"

She can feel his hot breath feather across her lips and cheeks and it takes a moment before she can answer coherently.

"Yes." Her voice still shakes though. And it strikes her. Maybe she's not afraid of the fact that he will kill her. No, death she can face. She's afraid of his proximity to her, the way his breath tingles across her skin, the way his dark grey eyes rake across her face, the strange emotions he inspires in her body and the way her heart thuds jerkily when she's near him.

She's afraid of what he makes her _feel_.

..

He laughs, low and bitter and on his breath she can smell need as sweet as honey.

"You get under my skin, you know?" He moves back, as if to give her some space and just when she can finally take a breath and feel cool air sweeping past cracked lips, he moves back in again, his lips blowing warm air into the shell of her ear. And she can feel the blood pound through her veins harder.

"My soldiers say you are just another girl. Another virgin priestess who life has never ventured beyond the confines of her caged temple. But you make me lose my _fucking_ mind. Tell me why?"

Her arms are trembling and the baby feels like lead. She's afraid she'll drop him and then she will have no one left and when he shifts his head and looks into her eyes she shrinks back into the wall and clutches onto the child but still has no answer. In fact, she cant even think right now, not when she feels the heat radiating from his body and seeping through the soft thin cotton of her clothes. It makes her skin tingle.

"I don't know." Her words are a mix of fear and confusion.

"Of course. You don't know. _Right_." He laughs, mocking and bitter and something inside of her begins to burn.

So she is who she is. And maybe she doesn't know all the answers. But she _knows_ who she is. This girl, a lost priestess who will fight tooth and nail when backed into a corner.

Using the side of her body as leverage, she pushes him away. And he stumbles because he didn't see it coming.

"I don't know many things but neither do you. But you'll get away with it because you can back me into a corner and make me cower to explain away your own inadequacies and because you are a man and no one will ever question the fact that you are just as clueless and scared as everyone else. Now I know why though. Maybe I do get under your skin because even if I don't know how to live, I can still _feel_. You however _can't_ anymore."

There's brimstone in her low shaky voice, torn from the depth of her chest as her anger comes out in heaves that shake her slight frame.

He stares at her and between them brews this tension, a boiling pot of emotions spilling over and hissing.

His lips curve into a half smile and for a moment, it's like there's a light summer breeze sweeping through the castle. As of now, there is no war, there are no dead bodies splayed awkwardly on once golden sands and she isn't a lost lonely girl. There are two people in a corridor and there's a slumbering child between them and it's almost, normal.

"This is why," he murmurs before moving forward and melding her lips with his.

..

It's her slightly parched soft lips against his sweeter full ones and on them she tastes honey and cool assurance.

..

She knows she's felt this feeling somewhere before.

It's the feeling of fine golden sand slipping through her fingers and cool blue waters lapping at her feet on a sunny day as Andromache and Hector sit by her side with their son and contented smiles on their faces. She stares into the ocean and it hurts her eyes a little but there's a smile on her face and a song in her heart.

For a brief moment in time, the feel of his lips takes her back to the happiest she has ever felt but like that moment, this is over soon too.

She loves the feeling though.

Of being so purely happy, that nothing will ever change or fade this memory.

..

"I'll take you both away." She tenses at his words because honestly, she never really gave thought to a future. At least not taking into account everything that is happening now.

"Will you come? I live in Larissa. It's no Troy but its home. I'll do everything to make you happy." All of a sudden, he's no longer the worldly wise Achilles who wants to be forever immortalized in the portals of fame and glory. He's this ordinary man just like every other and his voice is so full of hopeful wanting and it meets the tug that she feels in her heart towards him.

"I'll come." She says, her voice light and happy before a thought once again clouds it.

"But, what if you die tomorrow?"

He laughs as he leads her to her rooms.

He drops a kiss on her cheek and smoothes the worried frown on her face before he replies.

"I'm Achilles. I'm immortal and the greatest warrior that ever lived. Tomorrow I'll take you away." He smiles; never more sure of his words and her heart is comforted a little.

He leaves with a wave but a niggling doubt doesn't leave her.

Immortality isn't meant for humans. It belongs to the capricious Gods alone.

And everyone falls in the end. Men, women and children.

And even the bravest and greatest of all warriors.

..

She's waiting at the entrance of her rooms because she can't bear to look outside. It's only a matter of time before the castle falls because now the numbers of men fighting for Troy are rapidly receding and the Greeks are encroaching ever faster.

She just wants to get away from it all.

From this war, from the temple of her Gods, from this country which is slowly losing it's will to live.

In the distance, she can see Achilles striding towards her and her heart gladdens because yes, she and Astyanax are finally getting away now and she will live to see her nephew grow into a strapping young lad.

The closer Achilles get, the higher her heart lifts until she thinks it will burst.

And then it does.

..

Achilles stumbles and Paris appears behind him, cross bow in hand and arrows slung on his shoulder. This Paris isn't the cousin she once knew, boyish and charming and slightly weak. This Paris is hardened and grown up and she can see it in the stern line of his jaw.

"Run away Briseis," he shouts. "This monster is coming to get you."

_Nononono_. This isn't the way it's supposed to be. She runs towards him instead as more arrows pierce his armour and stick out in a grotesque imitation of branches on a tree.

Tears run down her face as she sets Astyanax's basket at the side, away from the onslaught of merciless arrows.

He was supposed to be immortal.

"Get away Briseis!" Paris roars and just as Achilles is falling on his knees, the arrow pierces through his heel.

By the time she get's to him, blood is leaving his face and his breathing is tortured. He's dying. Like a normal person. Like Hector.

She cradles him in her arms as hot tears drip down her face. She is so angry right now, at everyone and at everything. He told her he'd take her away and he wasn't supposed to die. They were going to live and be happy. Ordinary but happy.

"You're not immortal," she tells him between sobs as she holds him to her chest and gazes down at his face, tracing its hard features and feeling her heart bleed.

"No I'm not," he chuckles weakly. He raises a hand to her face and palms her cheek.

"I was meant to be immortal but not forever. I wasn't supposed to be anything other than a warrior. But then I saw you and – I think it's the Gods way of punishing me for wanting more than glory. For wanting everything." For him each word is torture and Briseis doesn't know what to do except hold him close as she can.

"What about what I want?" She whispers. "I just found you and…" She can't say it. She just cannot. And yes, it is selfish but god; it's what she wants so very badly. Him and Astyanax and a small little house somewhere, away from the bloodstained sand and a castle of shattered dreams.

"I found you too. Maybe a little too late but I found you. And _you_…" he can barely form words but he continues anyways, "and you gave me peace and made my life worthwhile."

His eyes flutter close and she can hear herself begging and pleading.

"Don't go. Please don't go. Please –" She prays with everything she has got and holds him closer as she rocks back and forth. But the Gods don't come to her aid even now. He's fading away slowly in her arms.

"Find the life you deserve. Be happy. And remember me." He leans up for a kiss and their lips barely brush before his breath ceases and his eyelids settle over his eyes, his face a picture of bland contentment.

She gently lowers his head into her lap and her hair covers her face, not showing Paris the tears streaming down her cheeks and the raw ache in her throat.

Astyanax wails, his voice shrill and petulant, breaking through the sound of her labored breathing and Paris's damning silence.

..

Greece wins the war, Troy falls but she escapes along with Astyanax, Paris and Helen. Priam doesn't make it but she thinks he would have been happy to know they and a few other Trojans lived to tell the tale

Everybody got what they wanted and in a sense even she did but the taste if victory on her lips feels bittersweet.

She won a life but she lost the will to live.


End file.
